


'Til The Sun Comes Up

by vintagerogers



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecure Wade, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagerogers/pseuds/vintagerogers
Summary: Wade's shoulder slumps the smallest bit, defeated. "I told you what they did to me," he says, and his voice is small like Peter's never heard it, like he really does think Peter will think less of him after seeing his face. "What I look like now."Or, the one where Wade shows Peter his face for the first time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me again!!! back at it again with another prompt fill!!! i cant ever say no to any version of peter seeing wades face for the first time so here we are :~) i hope you love it!!

So it's nearing midnight and Peter's draped across his couch, trying to decide if he wants to get up and go to bed or stay beneath his pile of blankets and finish his Keeping Up With the Kardashians marathon. He's leaning towards Keeping Up With the Kardashians and not having to leave the warmth of his mountain of blankets, when there's a sharp knock at the door, sudden and shrill in the otherwise still, quiet room. 

 

It makes him jump, and out of spite, he's almost tempted not to answer it and pretend that he's sleeping. He really, really doesn't want to leave his blankets, but then there's another knock and Wade's voice calls, "honey, I'm home!" 

 

Peter groans loudly. Of course it's Wade. He doesn't know why he thought anybody else might show up on his doorstep at midnight. 

 

Out of spite, he's almost tempted not to answer and pretend that he's sleeping, but then Wade knocks again and Peter sighs loudly, slowly crawling out from beneath his blankets. 

 

Wade's reckless at the best of times, and while he's definitely in the habit of turning up on Peter's doorstep whenever he's bored or lonely or just feels like being a pain in the ass, he also has a habit of turning up on Peter's doorstep when he's been mortally wounded. Peter can absolutely be an asshole at the best of times, but he doesn't wanna risk not answering the door and leaving Wade to bleed out on his doorstep, even if he doesn't actually stay dead for very long. 

 

Sure enough, as he stifles a yawn and pulls open the door, Wade's standing in front of him with only one arm, dripping blood onto the carpet just in front of Peter's front door. He doesn't need to look to know that it probably trails all the way down the hall. His landlord's gonna kick his ass. 

 

"Wade," he says, and he means for it to sound stern, but Wade's only got one arm, and it comes out a little more choked than he would've liked for it to, a lot more concerned. 

 

Wade heaves his butchered shoulders. "Don't worry about me, baby cakes," he says. "It's just a scratch." 

 

"Just a scratch," Peter repeats flatly. Wade's entire arm is missing. It looks like somebody successfully carved it out of his shoulder. "Your arm's gone." 

 

Wade shrugs again, unbothered. "It'll grow back," he says. "It's just my left arm, anyway. My left arm is just dead weight on a good day."

 

He wriggles his attached arm like he's making a good point, but like. His entire arm is still missing. He's still bleeding profusely over Peter's doorstep. 

 

"You're an idiot," Peter tells him. "Get inside." 

 

Wade doesn't argue, stepping past Peter into his apartment and dripping blood all over the carpet inside, too. There's no way in hell that Peter's getting his security deposit back when he moves out. 

 

He quickly takes Wade's hand, his attached hand, and leads him through the living room, down the hall, into the bathroom. He sits Wade down on the edge of the tub as he demands, "what the hell happened to you?" 

 

Wade shrugs again, and it makes more blood flow from his shoulder, down his arm, onto the tile. It'll be easier to clean than the carpet, at least. 

 

"I'm sure I've told you," he says, as Peter pulls open the medicine cabinet, rifling through it for anything he can use to bandage whatever's left of Wade's shoulder. He knows that his arm will grow back, and he knows that if he bleeds to death, he'll just wake back up in a few minutes, but Peter would really rather just cut out the middle part and have Wade not die at all. It freaks him out a bit, alright? Knowing Wade will come back to life doesn't make it any easier to watch him die. "I had, like, nine different kinds of cancer and this guy who, I swear to God, was named after _dish soap_ —" 

 

"Your arm, Wade," Peter interrupts. If he sounds a little short, it's only 'cause he's worried. He cares too much about Wade, and it can get a little exhausting, given how often Wade goes out and does things like get his entire arm torn off. "What happened to your arm?" 

 

"Oh, this?" Wade asks. "This is nothing. This is just a scratch," he reminds him, and Peter sighs at him as he sits on the edge of the tub next to him and starts to tape up his shoulder with gauze. "I've had much worse," Wade tells him. "I lost both my arms once. I think it was before your time. The phantom itching was _insane_."

 

"Wade," Peter warns. 

 

"That's a true story," Wade tells him. "I've also been just a head. That was an experience. An out of body experience," he adds, and even with the mask on, Peter can still hear the grin in his voice. 

 

He wants to be stern, he really does, but he can't keep himself from cracking a smile. "You're an idiot," he says again. 

 

"Who needs brains when you've got good looks like these?" Wade asks with a shrug. 

 

Peter smiles again, biting his lip as he finishes taping bandages over the gaping wound in Wade's shoulder. It should keep him from bleeding to death while his arm grows back, at least. 

 

He leans back, watching Wade as he reaches around with his attached arm to prod curiously at his bandages. He's known Wade for what's starting to feel like forever, but not in a, like, _oh my God, I'm so tired of this guy_ kind of way. Just in the way that he can't really remember a time in his life when Wade wasn't around, hassling him, making him smile. It's been a few years, at least, since they had met, and it's been almost as long since Wade had decided that they were gonna be best friends, and that he didn't care what Peter had to say about it. 

 

It had been really fucking annoying at first, honestly, but Wade had grown on him. Peter doesn't have any plans to tell Wade any time soon, but had Wade grown on him a little too much? Did Peter have an embarrassing, school girl crush on him? Yeah. Kinda. 

 

The only thing was, in the years Peter had known him, he had only ever seen Wade in his suit. He'd seen Wade without limbs and important organs, but he was always very, very careful not to let Peter see any part of him that was still attached, undressed. Peter had seen him in civilian clothes only a handful of times, and even then he was careful to leave his mask and gloves on so there wasn't a part of him left uncovered. Wade talks a lot about how handsome he is, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure out how insecure he really is. When he's not cracking jokes about how good looking he is, he's cracking jokes about how awfuland terrifying he is under the mask, and Peter's smart enough to know that even though he's good at pretending to laugh it off, it bothers him. 

 

It makes Peter's heart a little heavier than he'd like to admit. He's never seen pictures of Wade from the before the torture, the cancer, but he's pieced together from the vague way that Wade talks about his past that he used to be really, very good looking. He can see it in him, too. Obviously he's bias, 'cause he has feelings for Wade and he likes him as a person for whatever reason, but he's tall, and broad shouldered, and while Peter doesn't have any plans to tell him any time soon, his speaking voice, too, is low and gravelly and very, very attractive. 

 

He knows how much it hurts Wade, even if he pretends that it doesn't, that all the awful things that had happened to him have changed him, marred him, but it couldn't matter any less to Peter. He's attracted to him and he's never actually seen his face. 

 

He watches Wade as he pokes at what's left of his shoulder again, nodding his head. 

 

"Good as new, baby boy," he says, and rises to his feet. "If saving people in a leotard doesn't work out for you, you should think about saving them in scrubs." 

 

Peter watches him blankly as as he rolls his good shoulder. "You're leaving?" 

 

"I have to," he says, like it's obvious. "Who's gonna save all the poor kitties stuck in trees if I don't?" 

 

Peter is careful to keep his expression blank so Wade knows just how ridiculous Peter thinks he's being. "No," he says. "I don't trust you not to get your other arm torn off. You're staying here." 

 

"Is this you trying to seduce me?" Wade asks. "Because you could just say so. I'd never say no. There's an ongoing party in my pants and you're never not invited." 

 

Peter blinks at him, hopes his ears don't turn pink. Wade sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright," he says. "You don't have to badger me. If you want me around that much, I can stay." 

 

"Was that so hard?" Peter asks, and Wade slumps back against the wall like he's exhausted. 

 

"So hard," he agrees. 

 

Peter tries to sigh at him, but he can't keep himself from cracking a smile. "You're an idiot," he tells him fondly. He points out of the bathroom, back down in the hall in the general direction of his bedroom. "Go change into something less bloody," he instructs. "I think I have some clean sweatpants in my dresser." 

 

"Do you have a thing for seeing me in your clothes?" Wade asks. "A little bit possessive, are you?" Peter tries to look at him sternly, and Wade holds his hands up defensively, making a beeline for the door. "Alright, alright. I'm going. I didn't say I didn't like it, though." 

 

Peter snorts, and he can hear Wade laugh as he walks down the hall and lets himself into his room. Peter quickly washes his hands, trying to get Wade's blood out from under his fingernails, before making a half hearted sort of attempt at cleaning all the blood from the floor, his bathtub. He uses black towels, so it doesn't look too gruesome when he piles them into the hamper and follows Wade's footsteps down the hall, into his room. 

 

It doesn't even occur to him that he told Wade to change out of his suit, to uncover himself, that having Wade spend the night might mean the chance to see him without the mask, until he walks into his room and sees Wade sitting in the chair at his desk, feet propped up next to his laptop, mask and gloves still pulled on. 

 

He'd stolen a pair of Peter's socks, careful to keep his feet covered, and he's wearing a pair of Peter's biggest sweatpants that he's tucked into his socks to keep them from riding up and flashing Peter even an inch of his skin. The sweatshirt he's wearing is massive on Peter, but almost is almost too tight across his broad shoulders, his chest. He has the sleeves tugged down as low as he can get them, and the collar pulled up as high as he can get it without causing the sweatshirt to ride up. 

 

It kinda makes Peter's chest hurt, the smallest bit, how careful Wade is to keep every part of him covered. 

 

He tries to ignore it as he sits on the edge of the bed so he's facing Wade, folding his legs. Wade swivels around to his face him, and Peter can't see his face, but he can hear the grin in his voice when he says, "well? How do I look? Is this doing it for you like you thought it would?" 

 

Peter rolls his eyes, but it's fond. He can't help it. "It's alright," he says. Then, before he can stop himself, "do you always wear your mask to bed?" 

 

He had meant to say it lightly, lightheartedly, like he's joking, but it comes out softer, more earnest than he meant for it to. He can't help it. He doesn't want to force Wade to take his mask off if he really doesn't want to, if he's really uncomfortable, but it kind of hurts to think that he thinks he has to cover himself from Peter so carefully, that he has to hide himself from Peter at all. Peter hasn't come even close to telling Wade about his embarrassing, school girl crush on him, but Wade's known Peter for years, and he should know that he doesn't need to hide from him, that he doesn't need to sleep in a mask to keep himself covered. 

 

Wade only shrugs his shoulder, unbothered. "It works like noise cancelling headphones," he says easily, like Peter doesn't regularly wear a mask and know that that's a lie. 

 

"Wade," Peter says, and it comes out even softer, even more earnest. He hadn't meant to open this can of worms, but he doesn't wanna force Wade to go sleep in the mask to keep himself hidden, he doesn't wanna force Wade to go to sleep thinking he has to. Wade swivels around in his chair again, twice, three times, before Peter reaches out to grab the side of it, keeping him still, facing Peter. "Wade," he repeats softly. "You know you can take it off, right?" Wade laughs, but it's short, harsh, bitter. Peter frowns. "I'm serious. I'm not gonna scream and run." 

 

Wade laughs again, still without humour, a little more sad. "That's what you think," he says. "Not that I could blame you. You wouldn't be the first. If you _didn't_ scream and run, actually, that would be something. Then you would be the first." 

 

"Wade," Peter repeats softly, and he still can't see Wade's face, but he knows that Wade's not looking him in the eye. "The mask's not a great look either, but I like you now." 

 

Wade tilts the head smallest bit, slumping back in his chair. "It's worse than whatever you're picturing," he tells him. "Picture the worst version of whatever you're picturing, and it's worse than that." 

 

"Wade," Peter says, brushing his fingers against Wade's knee, and like, that's cheating a little bit, but he knows that Wade's always had a soft spot for physical contact. It can make it pretty easier for Peter to get what he wants. "You don't really think I'll care, do you? How long have you known me?" 

 

Wade's shoulder slumps the smallest bit, defeated. "I told you what they did to me," he says, and his voice is small like Peter's never heard it, like he really does think Peter will think less of him after seeing his face. "What I look like now." 

 

Peter brushes his fingers against Wade's knee again. "You can trust me." 

 

Wade slumps further back in his chair again, like he's debating it. He rolls his shoulder again, bringing his hand up to run his fingers along the collar of his sweatshirt, against the fabric of the mask. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he says finally, and he says it in his usual loud, dramatic voice, his says it without any hint of timidness, insecurity. 

 

Peter knows he's putting up a front. He can see it in the way that Wade runs his fingers over the mask again, how genuinely scared he is, but he doesn't need to be. Peter runs his fingers along Wade's knee again. "I'll survive," he says. 

 

Wade grumbles, something that sounds suspiciously like, "we'll see," but he still takes a deep breath, slides his fingers under the fabric of the mask. A moment passes, two, and Peter almost thinks that Wade's gonna change his mind and keep the mask on, when all at once, he pulls it up, over his head, off. 

 

He lifts the corner of his mouth at Peter, and, like. Peter can see him lift the corner of his mouth. 

 

It's weird, for a long moment, even being able to see his face. His hand reaches out before he can stop it, and he cradles Wade's jaw, thumbing slowly over the hard ridges of scar tissue he finds there. Wade leans into his touch, and the smallest bit of tension starts to bleed from his shoulder, but he doesn't look away from Peter, like he's still waiting for him to scream and run. 

 

Which, like, Peter has absolutely no intention of doing. Wade definitely looks a little worse for wear, and he's probably not gonna be winning any beauty contests any time soon, but Wade had told him once that he looks like all of his skin had melted off, and that's kind of what Peter had been expecting. He doesn't look even remotely that gruesome. Not even close. 

 

Peter can even still see in him how really, very good looking he is beneath the scars and the sores. His eyes, too. Wade has really beautiful eyes. 

 

"You have blue eyes," he murmurs finally, and when Wade grins, there's a scar at the corner of his mouth that makes it kind of lopsided. It's adorable. Peter's hopelessly endeared. 

 

"I do," he says. "I was a real beauty queen back in my day, y'know. Blonde hair and blue eyes. I was a stunner."

 

Peter thumbs over his jaw again, laughs softly. He really, really wants to kiss him. 

 

"Can I kiss you?" He asks softly. 

 

Wade grins again, and it's lopsided. "Duh." 

 

Peter laughs again, starts to lean closer, before Wade closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Peter's. It's kind of a disaster of a kiss, 'cause Wade can't stop grinning long enough to kiss him properly, and it keeps making Peter laugh, but also, as far as first kisses go, it's kinda perfect. 

 

Wade's still grinning when he finally pulls away, kissing Peter between the eyes. "If I'd known you'd think I was that good looking, I would've shown you my ugly mug a long time ago," he says, and Peter snorts. 

 

"Are you ready to tell me what you did to your arm now?" He asks, and Wade looks him, grinning widely. It's lopsided. 

 

"Oh, this?" He asks. "This is just a scratch."

**Author's Note:**

> dont forget to come find me on [tumblr](http://sweetheaert.tumblr.com)!!! im always taking prompts and requests so dont be afraid to hmu :~)


End file.
